


Hermione: Far From Home

by FirewhiskySoul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Creepy Songs, F/M, Intrigue, Multiverse, Mystery, Yule, Yuletide, idk how to tag, magical and supers worlds combine!, not really but a little bit i guess, tom holland is perf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirewhiskySoul/pseuds/FirewhiskySoul
Summary: When Hermione hears mysterious caroling, she follows the sound until she trips - literally! - into the Spider-Verse and beyond.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Peter Parker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: Enchanted Wonders Holiday Collection 2019





	Hermione: Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Enchanted Wonders Holiday Collection 2019, hosted by the lovely Marvelously Magical Fanfiction group on Facebook.
> 
> Magical spell/item: Age Line  
> Winter word: Caroling
> 
> HUGE thank you to Maurave for alphabeting and helping me figure out how to make this work!!

“Harry? Harry, I can’t -” Hermione frowned down at the device in her hand and shook it. “Harry, I can’t hear you!” She winced at the feedback in her ear and drew the phone away once more. An irritated sigh accompanied the satisfying  _ snap! _ of the mobile closing. 

While she was normally grateful for the integration of Muggle technology in the Wizarding world, such as the Runestone-powered mobile phone in her hand, she was equally as often vexed by the troubles that accompanied them. She would have to bring it by the Creevey Tech Den later to have Dennis take a look at it. Hermione wasn’t overly fond of technology, preferring the tactile sensations of book pages and quill nibs to cold screens and impersonal interactions. She had missed the introduction of such things after the Blood Wars had ended, when she’d been busy with the restoration of Hogwarts and finally completing her education to earn her NEWTs. Even after that, when she was studying to become an Unspeakable, she’d just never had time for learning another new skill, and thus had never gotten used to any of the various pieces of tech her more forward-thinking friends had easily assimilated into their lives.

Nevertheless, she found herself begrudgingly keeping with the times, per her friends’ insistence. They were right in that these skills helped transition seamlessly between the rapidly advancing Muggle world, and the more slowly evolving Wizarding one. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though. She usually wound up with a headache after dealing with the obnoxious mobile for any length of time. 

The problems seemed to happen especially in times like these, when she actually  _ needed  _ to be able to use it. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and herself were all supposed to meet after work for their monthly catch-up dinner, but she hadn’t written down which restaurant had been chosen. Now, she was stuck holding a useless lump of plastic and glass, standing indecisively in the middle of a frozen Diagon Alley. 

Snow drifted lazily through the air around her, muting the hustle and bustle of pre-holiday shopping. Caroling filled the spaces between snowflakes, enchanting Hermione anew with the Wizarding versions of winter songs. It had been fourteen years since she’d learned she was a witch, but some things never lost their sparkle for her. Diagon Alley during Yuletide was a sight to behold, especially with barely any visible evidence left of the war that had ended seven years earlier.

The strain of a familiar melody filtered through the soft, frozen flakes around her, immediately calling to mind a winter celebration of long ago: fireplaces working overtime to dispel the chill of a dark house, macabre wall hangings and ghastly trinkets, a tense Weasley family, and a joyous Sirius. The Black family patriarch had twirled around the house singing this very same song, tugging anyone he could into a dance. Harry had been so happy that day, but the melody now rose the hairs on the back of her neck.

It called to her.

Trying to shake off the odd melancholy that had suddenly draped itself over her, Hermione began making her way down the main Alley, searching for the singing. There was something strange about it, but also something altogether familiar. She couldn’t put a name to the emotion that stirred in her chest; she only knew that she needed to find the source of the music. 

Every time she thought she was close, though, the sounds would move away again. It happened a number of times in a row before she began to grow legitimately annoyed. Sure, she was in the Wizarding world, but did that mean that everything had to be mysterious? 

The sun was beginning to drop ever lower in the sky, and her friends must have been wondering where she was and why she was uncharacteristically late to dinner, but Hermione was too invested in this sudden mystery to care much. Invisible carolers? Haunting voices? Hypnotic tune? The former Gryffindor was hooked.

The singing grew louder.

Despite her normally better judgement, the siren call of the ghostly music pulled her out of the busier part of Diagon Alley and down a side lane she’d never noticed before. The already muted noises of the main street faded behind her were muffled almost completely now. Hermione’s ears began ringing, both from the thick silence that only a heavy snowfall could provide, and from the aching sound of the Yule song coming from just ahead.

A small part of her rational self broke free, and she pulled her wand from its wrist holster and lit it with a silent flick. The cool beam of light did nothing but reflect off the fat snowflakes all around her. 

Still the music carried on.

Hermione began wondering, in the back of her mind, if she might be going mad. Perhaps the stress of her job was getting to her. There was, after all, quite a lot to learn as an Unspeakable, much more than her friends could ever suspect. The past two years had opened her eyes to the unfathomable limits to which magic could be pushed, more than anything Dumbledore, Voldemort, or either of their followers had ever demonstrated.

With another flick, Hermione doused the light from her wand and let her eyes adjust before moving forward again, though she kept a firm grip on her only form of protection. The shadows just beyond her field of vision seemed to be growing thicker and thicker. The air grew frigid and crisp, until her lungs seemed to crackle with each breath and shivers chased themselves up and down her spine. She was sure she was going to get frostbite; warming charms only did so much for bare skin like her hands and face.

It wasn’t until she had crossed its threshold that Hermione noticed the line on the ground. One moment, there was nothing but the snow in the air, the thickening darkness beyond, and the haunting music; the next, a brilliantly glowing purple line lit up the ground behind her. She only had time to gasp before her body ceased moving against her will. 

Despite a valiant effort, she couldn't move from her place in the narrow, dark alley. The purple light dragged along the rounded line on the ground, gathering itself in the center. For a moment, the glowing ball of violet quivered on the ground before launching up towards her chest, surrounding her completely. It flared vividly before sinking into her skin, and Hermione choked on her breath as she clutched the shirt at her breastbone. She could feel the magic shifting through the many layers of skin, muscle, tendon, and bone, infusing her thoroughly with a foreign but somehow gentle power. 

With one last burst of twinkling light, Hermione was released unexpectedly, and she fell to her knees. Her trembling hands barely caught her upper body in time, but it wasn’t from weakness. No, she felt stronger than ever before. It was shock. She could immediately feel a difference. 

Her twenty-six year old body had been cured of at least five years. Knowing her luck, if she had to guess, Hermione would say that her physical self had actually regressed even further to about seventeen or eighteen years of age. The biggest clue was the missing twinge in her throat that had developed after Bellatrix’s decoration session.

Breathing deeply, she sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow her, and let it out heavily before climbing back to her feet. The ringing in her ears left over from the magical implosion slowly faded, allowing the sound of caroling to filter back in.

Her limbs felt foreign and uncoordinated, awkward in a strange way that she’d forgotten. She certainly had not missed being a teenager, and she scoffed slightly as she looked down her body before turning to glare down the narrow alley at where the hidden Age Line had been. She had half a mind to Apparate into the Ministry right then and there to report an illegal use of magic, but that infernal tune overpowered her good sense once again. 

Almost magnetically, Hermione turned back and moved toward the caroling once more. She hardly felt her feet move; there was no room to think around the swell of music filling her head. It completely drowned out every other thing on her mind. The compulsion to follow was overwhelming and undeniable.

The snow continued to grow thicker still as she moved forward, until it cluttered her lashes and kissed her skin. All Hermione could see was white. A glance down showed even the wand clutched in her right hand to be nearly completely obscured by a white blanket of snow. 

As her foot caught on a loose paving stone, the music crescendoed. 

She instinctively covered her face with her arms as she fell forward, and the music cut out completely.

When she didn’t stop falling, she blanched and cracked one eye open. Instead of the haze of frosty white she had expected to see, all around her was black. Both eyes flew open, taking in the impenetrable blackness as far as she could see. The only color breaking up the void were strings of all sizes.

Tiny wisps in shades of blue, red, black, and white floated in between massive structures of what seemed like industrial cabling, but the way the strands moved was more fluid than any wiring she’d ever seen. As Hermione moved her head to assess what the bloody hell was happening, she noticed that the strings around her actually appeared to be spider webbing. But they were much stronger than actual spiderwebs, because she was still hurtling through them and they hadn't broken around her wrists or blown away.

Before she had time to properly freak out, the world flashed white around her once more and the terrifying fall ended with an  _ oomph!  _ and surprisingly little pain. She cursed the stupid younger body she’d been tricked into, and the fact that she’d forgotten the recent change in her terror only moments earlier. 

When a muffled groan reverberated under her arm, Hermione drew her head back and squeaked, startled, when she realized she hadn’t landed on snow covered cobblestone, but rather a person.  _ That would explain the lack of broken bones, _ she thought. In her surprise and mounting embarrassment, the very confused woman - girl? - slid sideways off the boy and landed awkwardly on her back in the grass next to him.

A quick glance around showed Hermione that she had landed in what looked like some kind of park, one far larger than anything she’d find in the Wizarding world, or even London for that matter. She could see a few people about, but none were close by, and none seemed to be paying her or the boy any mind. 

Just as she began to struggle to straighten her clothing and try to stand up, a hand stuck itself into her field of vision. “Are you ok, miss?” Hermione looked up to see the boy crouched down in front of her, surprised by how deep his voice was. His eyes caught her own immediately, and Hermione felt a strange flash of recognition before it filtered away like a dream upon waking. He wasn’t quite as young as she’d thought at first glance; but then, she wasn’t nearly as young as she looked either.

Blushing slightly when she realized how long she’d been staring at him, Hermione cleared her throat and tore her eyes from his. She quickly gripped his hand to allow him to pull her up, but a strong electric shock to her palm made her gasp and pull back. The young man must have felt it too, because he winced and flexed his fingers. 

The two stared silently at each other for a long moment before her unlikely companion fell back into a sitting position in the grass in front of her. “Are  _ you  _ alright?” she asked him softly, feeling more than a little awkward. She had no idea where she was, how she’d gotten there, what was happening… The strange spiderwebs she’d seen flashed across her thoughts briefly, making her shiver.

“Oh, I’m fine, miss, but you…” He crossed his arms uncomfortably and pursed his lips for a second before continuing. “You just fell out of the Spider-Verse.” 

Hermione gaped at him. “I’m sorry, the  _ what? _ ”

The young man stared at her for several long moments before breathing in sharply and climbing to his feet. Once more, he offered her his hand. She hesitated slightly before taking it, expecting another zap to her palm. While no shock presented itself, a small tingle started in the middle of her hand before swiftly rippling out to encompass her entire arm in waves of warmth. 

He pulled her slowly to her feet, and Hermione felt her cheeks pinken once again as he appraised her. “It might be easier to talk this over with some food or something,” he offered. “You want some pizza?” His eyebrows rose slightly and his eyes widened a bit, turning his handsome face into an irresistible puppy-esque plea for agreement. Hermione found herself nodding, not really knowing else to do. “My name’s Peter, by the way,” he said, “Peter Parker.”

“Hermione Granger,” she breathed in reply. Her fingers tightened around his involuntarily before they both seemed to remember they were, in fact, still holding each other’s hands. In mirror movements, they blushed, and simultaneously let go and stepped back. She immediately felt a strange pang of loss, but brushed it off as another symptom of shock from whatever had happened a few minutes ago. 

Peter gestured towards a path not too far from them, and she headed in the direction he indicated. “Hermione,” he mused aloud. “That’s different. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that outside of Shakespeare.” He looked down at her in surprise when she said the last word at the same time he did.

“My mother was fond,” she replied simply, looking down. She had thought she missed her parents before, but now, when she had no idea where or when she was, she missed home with an immeasurable depth that rivaled the ocean. Her heart squeezed in sudden anxiety over the unknown, and she shoved her hands in her pockets to hide their trembling.

Peter seemed to intuitively pick up on her mood, because he touched her elbow, smiled, then continued on walking like nothing had happened. It warmed a small part of her terrified heart to see his concern over a virtual stranger. 

The pair walked in silence for a long stretch, either too uncomfortable with the strange situation, lost in their thoughts, or both. When Hermione finally registered the painful protestrations from her high heel-encased feet, she stopped on the paved park path and looked up at her unlikely companion. “How much further is it?” she asked him, hoping she didn’t sound as blunt as she thought she did. “It’s just…” She trailed off and looked away, past his arm, blinking back the sudden burning sensation behind her eyes. “It’s been  _ ever  _ such a long day, and my feet are just  _ killing  _ me, and I don’t know -” Her breath hitched then, much to her embarrassment, and she pressed her fingertips to her lips to try to keep calm. Now was certainly not the time for a breakdown.

A small furrow had appeared between Peter’s eyebrows when Hermione chanced to look back at him. When he had her attention again, he moved towards her slowly with his hands held out. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok,” he told her softly when his fingers finally touched her shoulders, causing her eyes to well up. He slid his hands down her arms, past her elbows and wrists. He circled his fingers around her smaller hands so he could hold her hands loosely but reassuringly. 

Heat blossomed immediately across her skin and flooded her senses. A lone tear trailed, forgotten, down her cheek as his eyes captivated her. Hermione had no idea what this reaction meant every time they touched, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

Without consciously deciding to, Hermione moved so that she could lace the fingers of one hand with Peter’s own, and she used her shorter stature to tug on his hand. When he leaned down toward her, she rose on her tiptoes and slid her free hand behind his neck, pulling him even closer until she could press her lips to his.

Her eyes slid closed when Peter immediately slid his free arm around her back, holding her in place. She felt him deepen the impromptu, magnetic kiss, causing fireworks to explode behind her eyes. Her stomach swooped dizzyingly as she let go of Peter’s hand and wrapped both her arms around his neck, letting his lips consume her and all her good sense. 

As she fell further and further into his hypnotic embrace, she never noticed the snow that began falling lazily around them, nor the haunting melody carried on the wind.


End file.
